Yesterday’s 20-mile run both invigorated me and squeezed out every ounce of energy I had. I lived and died in those 3 1/2 hours.
The first 13 miles were golden. My legs flew faster than they should have, but I allowed it because of the freedom and confidence it brought to my soul. I am ready to face this race. I was lit up inside with all the love my heart could hold, and the run was a celebration of life and love and everything good.
I drank in the nature around me. Yellow daffodils with heads still bowed waited gracefully for their day in the sun. The earth looked antsy to be turned and planted and I guess it longs to bring new life into the world. Swollen creek beds… quiet country roads… an occasional cyclist who gave a brief head nod, respectfully acknowledging our likemindedness and dedication to our sports.
The 3,048 feet of elevation thrilled me and tore up my legs after awhile, so that by mile 18 I felt that familiar tug in my groin and my pelvic floor felt like it was going to give way with my next step leaving my guts in a pile in the street. I rationed my water and worried it wouldn’t be enough. The cloudless sky held a strong sun that beat down upon my head and reminded me how much I hate running in the sun.
I fantasized. I dreamed. I plotted. I imagined the marathon course and I visualized conquering it. I was elated. I was discouraged. I was everything in this run.
I thought about sex and love and the history of my life until now. I thought about the last 10 years and how I went from complete misery to a blissful, loving, trusting, exceedingly happy life without a system, without a plan – with only my heart, my desire for Love, and a willingness to survive until I was capable of living.
From death, springs life. As it is with the barren farmlands, so goes my soul.